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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25350031">skateboarding is something that can be so attractive</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatcaniwriteinthis/pseuds/whatcaniwriteinthis'>whatcaniwriteinthis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), Future Fic, M/M, Skater boy - Freeform, grant and darryl are latinx because i am and i Say So, grant's in college now, meet cute, no detail or anything tho just a sentence or two about it, tw for a little bit of blood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:08:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,195</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25350031</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatcaniwriteinthis/pseuds/whatcaniwriteinthis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>alternate title: grant has a type</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Grant Wilson/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>skateboarding is something that can be so attractive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>here we go time for my yearly fic i guess. titles are the bane of my existence. i love grant so much and i want the fucking world for him which not only means giving college-aged him a potential bf but also a therapist and good friends.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Grant still can’t see a skateboard without think about Yeet. This makes sense; his therapist reminds him over and over that he isn’t being irrational by just <em>remembering</em> things. But that’s not the <em>pressing</em> problem. The issue is, on his accursed college campus, they’re <em>everywhere</em>. Especially right outside his dorm building, a whole flock of skateboarders on the smooth patio area that he can see from his room. He’s only been here a few weeks, still trying to settle into the rhythm and freedom of classes and practice and homework and friends, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to seeing some skinny skater boy grind down the stair rails and thinking “Yeet” like a dagger to his chest.</p><p>He stands a little ways away from the group of skaters, watching them from the grass, after practice one day. He’s bone tired, with cold sweat sticking to his skin. He has class in an hour and he’s considering his one absence for the semester to skip, because the thought of listening to his professor talk about early colonial America for an hour and fifteen minutes is not incredibly appealing when all he wants to do is lie in the grass and romanticize his memories of Fortnight and Yeet and the Hotties. <em>That would be a good band name</em>. He thinks, not for the first time, and he fishes his phone out of his gym bag (that he’s got to wash sometime soon, he is not a straight man and he will not have the hygiene of one) and opens his texts.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>faeDONE w/your shit</b>
</p><p>10:26</p><p> </p><p><strong>me: </strong>Re: potential band names</p><p><strong>me: </strong>we gotta call ourselves the hotties it’s just good business</p><p> </p><p><b>lark: </b>why the FUCK are you awake rn</p><p><b>lark: </b>I thought college was for sleeping in</p><p><b>lark:</b> has father been lying to me???</p><p> </p><p><strong>me: </strong>practice lol</p><p> </p><p><b>lark:</b> oh</p><p><b>lark:</b> acceptable I guess</p><p><b>lark: </b>jock</p><p> </p><p><b>nick: </b>duly noted</p><p><b>nick: </b>idk why you’d wanna live with your middle school memories for the rest of your career but okay</p><p><b>sparrow: </b>I think it’s romantic!</p><p> </p><p>Grant laughs and starts to type out a response, but is interrupted by a yell.</p><p>“Board!”</p><p>And indeed there is, sailing towards Grant. He could move, of course. Or duck. Or even catch it. But Grant is fresh out of practice and running on <em>no</em> coffee, because the shit at the dining hall is pretty gross and his coach wants him to avoid "<em>addictive substances"</em>. So he's not thinking. And he heads it.</p><p>Immediately his forehead hurts. Not as bad as any serious injury he’s had, but still it’s a bitch. He drops his phone to grab his head and hears it clatter onto the board. The group chat is going to get a kick out of this.</p><p>“Dude! You good?” There’s the sound of footsteps and a shadow falls over Grant and he squints up at the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen. He’s tall and lanky with a soft-looking cloud of curly black hair and the most incredible jawline Grant has ever had the pleasure of viewing in person.</p><p>“Uh…” Grant feels his face heat up and hopes desperately it isn’t noticeable (though he knows it is). <em>Get a sentence out Wilson!</em></p><p>“Oh no, brain damage!” the most beautiful boy Grant has ever seen says, laughing, and Grant can’t help but laugh along. “I dunno if I have anything in my first aid kit for that.” There’s a mischievous gleam in the boy’s eye and his smile is warm and inviting and Grant laughs along, almost helplessly.</p><p>“I might have something in mine.” Grant says and gestures with a leg to his gym bag.</p><p>“Excellent.” The beautiful boy says.”Sit down and I’ll have a look.”</p><p>Grant nods and sits on the prickly grass. He uses one hand to find his first aid kit—an old cookie tin—and hands it to the beautiful boy, who laughs and says, “These things never have cookies, huh?” Grant laughs and it comes out—embarrassingly—almost breathless.</p><p>The beautiful boy carefully pulls Grant’s hand away from his forehead. “Hmm, a little bleeding.” he remarks, as if Grant can’t see and feel it on his hand. Not that he wants to look at his hand when the beautiful boy is right here in front of him.</p><p>“Give it to me straight Doc.” Grant says dryly. “What are my chances?” He’s rewarded by the beautiful boy’s laugh.</p><p>“I think you’ll live.” The boy carefully starts to clean whatever scrape is on Grant’s forehead with an alcohol wipe. “I’m Amir by the way.”<br/>
<br/>
“Grant.” Grant replies, wincing at the sting. Amir… what a beautiful name, for such a beautiful boy. He’s going to write a poem—his first ever—about Amir and all the details he can see this close: the scar on his cheek, the perfectly formed curl above his left eye, the way his mouth curves as he speaks.</p><p>“I’ve never met a brown boy named Grant.” Amir remarks.</p><p>“White mom.” Grant explains. He’s glad Amir is focused on his forehead so he can’t see Grant drinking in Amir’s details. He’ll have Henry proofread his poem to make it sound fancy and then Sparrow, to make it sound like it came from this century.</p><p>Amir nods and Grant wants to make him laugh again. “Of course, my dad thought a white name would be good for job opportunities.” Amir ducks his head to laugh this time, but Grant is still close enough to see the way the corners of his eyes crinkle.</p><p>Amir peals open a bandaid and raises an eyebrow. “Meowth?”</p><p>“I’m a man of taste.” Grant shrugs and then goes cross-eyed trying to watch Amir carefully apply the bandaid. Great, now he’s going to have to go to class with Meowth front and center.</p><p>“There you go!” Amir exclaims and grins down at Grant who can only smile back. “And a kiss to make it better!” And before Grant can process words, Amir plants a kiss on his forehead with a loud, exaggerated “MWUAH!”</p><p>Grant feels his face flush in a sudden burst. He feels like he opened an oven in front of his face and, watching Amir stand and kick his skateboard into his hands, like he’s 12 and in Faerun again, desperately wanting Yeet to like him.</p><p>Then Amir smiles down at Grant, and he looks nothing like Yeet. There’s no weight of the world on too thin shoulders, just a beautiful boy with a beautiful smile. And Grant’s his own person now, an <em>adult</em>. He scrambles to his feet and picks up his stuff. He checks his phone and the time makes him wince.</p><p>“I have to go now.” Grant says reluctantly and Amir actually looks a little <em>disappointed</em>. That gives Grant the courage to say, “But I’d love to hang out with you latter. Wanna exchange numbers?” Amir beams.</p><p>Later, safely in his dorm, Grant flops onto his bed and updates the group chat.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>FaeDONE w/your shit</b>
</p><p>10:53</p><p> </p><p><strong>me: </strong>guess who headed a skateboard and got a cute boy’s number?!!</p><p> </p><p><b>paeden: </b>AYYYYYY</p><p> </p><p><b>tj: </b>if it works it works I guess</p><p> </p><p><b>sparrow: </b>ARE YOU OKAY???!!!</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i have a <a href="https://bidoofenergy.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> if you wanna chat~</p></blockquote></div></div>
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